


The Lure of Delacour

by SapphicSoapbox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, fleurmione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicSoapbox/pseuds/SapphicSoapbox
Summary: Dragons, death eaters and Durmstrangs she could handle. Veelas, however, were another thing altogether.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just get on my soapbox for a moment to say: There is a special place in purgatory for someone who would be so petty that they'd delete my fanfic accounts. I guess I should thank them. I got so angry about losing most of my work that I began writing them again out of spite.
> 
> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. asshole.
> 
> Anyway, without further ado...TLoD remastered.
> 
> (If someone has time to be my beta, I would greatly appreciate it. Just drop a comment below.)

            Hermione never paid much attention to others’ attractiveness. She had passing interest, but it was more appreciative than anything. While Ron screamed “Krum” at the top of his lungs and Ginny gushed over the seeker, Hermione only felt indifference. Of course he was easy on the eyes, but she didn’t feel the overwhelming need – as Ginny so elegantly put it – to snog him where he flew.

            In fact, she sort of resented Viktor Krum after the first two hours of the game. It was clear that he saw the snitch yet he did nothing to retrieve it. The Weasley twins said it was all about strategy. That he couldn’t because his team was too far down, and he needed to give them time. To Hermione, it was extending her torture. It was different when her friends played. Then she had a vested interest.

            When Viktor Krum finally caught the snitch, it was Hermione’s turn to go wild. She burst out of her seat and screamed Krum’s name. The Irish won, and she could care less. All she knew was that it was Krum who finally ended her suffering. Harry and Ron looked appalled at her sudden change in behavior. The twins took advantage of it. They hoisted Hermione up onto their shoulders and told her to give the Irish a few good chants. She happily did so, much to Ron’s chagrin.

            The twins impressed her when they carried her halfway down the stadium. She couldn’t blame them when they faltered on one of the brief landings. Hermione tripped just as her feet touched the ground, and she ran into someone from behind.

            A girl whipped her head around. Her face was a mixture of shock and anger. She started to chastise Hermione and the twins in a foreign language. French, Hermione realized. It was French. She could have been speaking the Queen’s English, and the words would have still been lost on Hermione.

            All she could do was stare. The girl’s face was mesmerizing. Her eyes were wide with anger, giving Hermione a clear view of how unnaturally blue they were. Her jaw was clenched, bringing attention to how perfectly angular it was. And her lips, oh her lips. Hermione would take French curses all day long if they were coming from those full lips.

            The girl stopped talking and stared at Hermione. Had she missed a question amidst the girl’s tirade? She gave a hard blink to snap herself out of whatever the hell just happened to her. Hermione used one of the only French words she knew.

            “Pardon,” Hermione muttered.

            The girl looked absolutely beside herself at that point. Somehow, Hermione had frustrated her more. The girl clamped the sides of her brown jacket and wrapped it tight around her, hiding the baby blue material of her sweater. As if closing in on herself would get her away from Hermione. She glared for what seemed like an eternity. Hermione was sure she was going to get slapped. What she wasn’t sure of was whether she’d particularly mind it.

            “It is fine,” the girl huffed with a thick French accent.

            Her concession was the last thing Hermione expected to hear. She couldn’t think of a reply before the girl turned her back to her to continue down the stairs, and she got a face full of the girl’s long blonde hair. Hermione would like to think it was an accident. After all, when someone is angry and they have hair reaching their bum, it is almost natural for...Hermione’s thoughts wandered again as the girl’s hips began to move. With eyes locked on the girl’s backside, Hermione was oblivious to the shouts of frustration behind her.

            “Move it!”

            “C’mon, Hermione, we have to keep going,” Harry urged.


	2. Chapter 2

            It was a little over a month into the school year when the announcement of Hogwarts’ guests was announced.   
  
            Hermione hadn’t thought much about the girl from the world championships. That was a lie _._ More accurately, Hermione didn’t _allow_ herself to think much about the girl. She was dealing with the aftermath from the latter end of the night.   
  
            Death eaters and Harry’s nightmares were taking most of her brain power to process. What downtime she had left was spent in the library. Her classes were cakewalk as usual so she kept her ritual of reading ahead. And when she still found her thoughts wondering to electric blue eyes and alabaster skin, she threw herself into her S.P.E.W. commitments.   
  
            Nothing would force her to think about that girl again. She wouldn’t let it.

...

...

...

            “It is my pleasure to introduce our first guests, the lovely ladies of the Beauxbaton’s Academy of Magic,” Dumbledore boomed.

            Hermione scanned the crowd to see a mixture of jealousy and arousal among the Hogwarts students. She scoffed at their simplicity. They were just girls dancing, and the student body was about to lose its head.

            The pedestal that she was standing on was knocked right from under her when the girl from the quidditch match came striding into the Great Hall. She was donned in the same blue dress as the others, but it seemed to be hand tailored to her. The silky fabric hugged her curves perfectly, and the cape overlay flowed with her graceful movements.

            When she came to ask for the bouillabaisse, Hermione’s heart nearly stopped beating. It seemed like Ron lost too much sense to reply to her request so Hermione took it upon herself to hand the bowl over.

            “Yah, ‘Mione,” Ginny pouted. “That was ours.”

            Hermione couldn’t look away from the Beauxbatons girl. She gave a small shrug.

            “I owe her one,” Hermione replied.

            “Look at the valiant little lion,” George teased.

            “Coming to the damsel’s rescue,” Fred added.

            It took all of her courage to give the girl an easy smile. Inside, her stomach felt like she was zipping down the world’s largest roller coaster.

            The girl didn’t seemed surprised at Hermione’s comment. It was as if she knew exactly who she was when she approached the table. Could she have remembered Hermione from such a brief encounter?

            “Thank you,” the girl mused. “Little lion.”

            The moment she turned to leave, Hermione leaned across Ginny to give Fred and George a death glare, signaling that their fun had to be sought elsewhere. The twins, mildly terrified, were more than happy to pounce on their hapless baby brother instead. Ron still hadn’t recovered from his close proximity to the girl, mumbling to himself and looking far off.

             Hermione was ashamed that she couldn't reign in her hormones. She was as bad as Ron. No amount of shame could have stopped her from watching the girl walk away though. Hermione's eyes traveled along the roll of the girl's shoulders to the sashay of her hips to the movement of the bottom of her dress that threatened to expose her backside with each step.

            “Veela,” Ron sighed. “She’s a veela.”

            “A what?” Hermione inquired.

            Before Ron-or anyone else born into the wizarding world-could answer, another figure loomed over the table. Viktor Krum was standing with a small bowl in hand. He stared at Hermione for a few long seconds. Hermione was uncontrollably irritated as he blocked her view.

            “For you,” he said.

            He reached past Harry and Ron to shove the bowl of bouillabaisse toward Hermione. She was about to tell him the food was unnecessary, but thought better of it with one glance at Ron. He appeared to be on the verge of passing out from excitement. Hermione took the bowl with a small thank you so Viktor would lean off of her poor friend.

            The group was watching on in silence as Viktor continued to stare at Hermione. She stared back in mild confusion and the irritation that was still lingering. Was she missing something? Before she could think of anything to say, Viktor gave a crisp nod and strutted away from the table.

            “What was _that_?” Ginny asked.

            “I have no idea,” Hermione replied.

            Ron was muttering Viktor’s name over and over as he pushed the bowl of the bouillabaisse closer to Hermione.

            “Ron, I’m full, really-”

            Hermione’s protests fell on deaf ears. He mentioned something about eating from a god, and she rolled her eyes. However, as the night went on, Hermione absentmindedly picked at the bits of cold bouillabaisse while she talked with her friends.

...

...

...

            That night, Hermione laughed with her roommates until sleep forced their heads onto their pillows. They spoke of their summer breaks and of the new students. Hermione omitted the literal run-in she had with the French witch when she spoke of the quidditch match. She rationalized that the death eaters were simply more important than a silly altercation with a gorgeous girl. The conversation became heavy when the Patil twins shared their memories of that night as well.

            Katie Bell soon lightened the mood when she gushed over Viktor Krum, asking Hermione if she had any personal training from the seeker. Hermione rolled her eyes. She heard the innuendo in Katie's voice, but chose to ignore it.

            “I don’t know him at all.”

            “Oh, please, Hermione,” Parvati chimed in. “We all saw him come up to you during dinner tonight. You’re honestly saying you don’t know him?”

            “Of course she doesn’t,” Ginny replied. “How do you think she got acquainted with a seeker from Bulgaria in muggle London?”

            Hermione gave her friend a gentle bump with her shoulder, and they shared a covert smile. She was thankful for the aid. The last thing she wanted was to be grilled about a guy she hadn’t thought twice about.

            The girls soon called it a night, ending on a cheerful note about the tournament. Which was why it was all the more alarming when Hermione woke hours later with an ear-piercing scream clawing out of her throat. The Parvati twins nearly fell out of their beds, and Ginny ran to Hermione to shake her out of her daze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: there is no Fleurmione in this chapter. Just character and plot development for Hermione. Don't worry, Fleur will pop back in soon.

            “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

            Ginny had been urging Hermione to let Harry and Ron in on what happened the entire morning. It began to grate on her nerves. She tried to remind herself that the younger Weasley was looking out for her, but honestly, it wasn’t the time.

            “Tell us what?”

            Harry looked up expectantly as Ginny and Hermione joined them in the Great Hall for breakfast. His inquisitive green eyes almost made Hermione cave. Almost.

            “Nothing, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “Just had a bad dream is all.”

            “A silly dream doesn’t wake you up terrified for your life,” Ginny retorted.

            That got Ron to pay attention. The three of them were all looking at her for some explanation. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t know why she was screaming? That she couldn’t remember a bloody thing about the dream? That, no matter how hard she tried, her mind had last night’s events under lock and key?

            “Just leave it,” Hermione huffed.

            “Was it as bad as mine, Hermione?” Harry questioned.

            “No,” Hermione said. “It was just a bad dream. Everyone has them from time to time.”

            “But they don’t make people scream bloody murder at three in the morning,” Ginny retorted.

            “It was one silly nightmare,” Hermione replied.

            Harry was looking increasingly worried, and Hermione couldn’t blame him. She wanted to know more too. It had been bothering her all morning. All she could remember was feeling a sudden sense of pure dread then waking up in a pool of sweat with a gut-wrenching scream leaving mouth. The ominous feeling loomed over her, but without anything else to go on she decided to push it aside. Sitting here with her friends staring at her, no matter how well-intentioned, wasn’t helping.

            Hermione abruptly stood and grabbed a scone.

            “If you’ll excuse me,” she said.

            She left the Great Hall with haste, so focused behind her to make sure no one was following that she was caught completely off-guard when she ran into a chest clad in reddish-brown cloth. A pair of hands grabbed her forearms to steady her, but her scone was lost to the marble floor.

            “Are you all right?”

            Not particularly, no.

            “I’m fine,” Hermione replied.

            Viktor just stared at her with the same guarded expression from last night. Hermione grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.

            “I’m late for class…”

            Hermione shot a pointed glance at his hands that still held her. Thankfully, he got the message and removed them. He fumbled in his pocket and revealed a small package that fit neatly into his palm.

            “So you won’t starve,” he said.

            She made no move to take the package, still unsure what was even happening.

            “They’re pastila,” he said. Then, noticing Hermione’s questioning eyebrow, added, “I think you British know them like…‘Turkish Delights.’”

            “That is very kind of you, but I couldn’t-”

            He cut her off, “My mother made enough for me to share with new friends. Please, I insist.”

            Hermione thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. His presence was blocking her way out of the Great Hall. She looked back to see her friends approaching them then turned to Viktor with a controlled smile, accepting the package absentmindedly.

            “Now if you don’t mind, I really must be going,” she said.

            This time she didn’t wait to be polite. She dodged past him and sped out of the Great Hall. Her friends were a lovely bunch, but she felt a shortness of breath she’d rather them not ask her about. She could barely focus enough to have one foot move in front of the other. Her body was on autopilot, and soon she found herself seated beside Neville in her Transfiguration class.

            “Miss Granger, would you please come to the front for a moment?”

            McGonagall held out a piece of parchment when Hermione approached her desk. The young Gryffindor took it and furrowed her eyebrows at its contents. It was a class schedule.

            “You will need to report to these classes from now on,” McGonagall said.

            “But, professor, this has sixth year classes.”

            McGonagall took a brief look around the room and motioned for Hermione to lean closer.

            “You have been excelling in your classes these past three years, Miss Granger, and you handled the time turner quite well. You are destined for greatness, but I’m afraid your current classes won’t get you there.”

            “Even with my extra readings, I don’t know if…”

            She didn’t want to admit to anyone – let alone to McGonagall – that she couldn’t succeed in something. Thankfully, she didn’t need to. Her professor filled in the blanks.

            “The sixth year charms and potions classes will be with our visiting students. These are two subjects that Hogwarts excels in, and because of that the curriculums are more rigorous. It wouldn’t be fair to our guests to put them in over their heads – as it wouldn’t be fair for me to do so to you. That is why the classes will contain both fifth and sixth year material. Look at it as an expedited course.”

            If Hermione was being honest with herself, she would have known she could do it. After all, she began reading straight through fifth year potions materials over the summer, and Professor Flitwick had given her private lessons far past her years throughout her time at Hogwarts.

            “Go now, Miss Granger, before you’re late to your new class,” McGonagall warned. “I’ll see you in your new block next week.”

            Hermione couldn’t help the smile forming on her face.

            “Right away, Professor.”

            Her smile dropped as soon as she got out of McGonagall’s classroom and saw which class she was meant to head to first. Potions. She was sure to be late if she had to race all the way to the dungeons, and Snape was unnerving on a normal day.

...

...

...

            “Miss Granger,” Snape droned. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence. Now, if you will take a seat.”

            Hermione knew better than to take his bait. She simply nodded and rushed to the first seat she found open. All eyes were on her from the moment she walked in, but as she sat down the room fell into a dead silence. She could feel the anxiety and annoyance increase around her. Couldn’t she have been left alone for five seconds today?

            “Miss Granger,” Snape started.

            Apparently not.

            “Tell me, when concocting a polyjuice potion, how long should the lacewing flies stew?”

            She gritted her teeth, seething at the clear prodding, but she managed to answer evenly.

            “Twenty-one days.”

            Snape didn’t let up. His questions came in rapid secession. Hermione answered just as quickly.

            “And when should the fluxweed be picked?”

            “During a full moon.”

            “And how long must you wait for it to stew?”

            “One month.”

            He paused, relishing in his own genius.

            “Last question, Miss Granger,” Snape said. “What is the limit to the power of the potion?”

            Bastard.

            “It cannot be used to change the user’s species.”

            The blood boiling so clearly under Hermione’s skin must have been enough to satiate his sadistic nature because Snape promptly turned on his heels and continued with his lesson. A lesson that hadn’t a thing to do with transformation.

            As she began to unpack her materials, a piece of parchment slid over to her side of the table. It seemed to be the notes from the first part of the class. She looked up to thank her partner and was surprised to see Viktor Krum. He was looking straight ahead, still scrawling on another piece of parchment.

            No wonder some of the Slytherin girls had looked murderous. She glanced to a table full of them to see some still glaring. Hermione dared to sit by the unapproachable celebrity. She rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long year.

            Snape got lost in a long lecture so no partner work allowed her and Viktor to talk. She sneaked glances at his profile more often than she’d like to admit. Some curiosity deep within her wanted to reach out and run her hand over his closely trimmed hair. She thought the texture must have felt fuzzy. It didn’t take long for her to find herself wondering what he’d look like with a beard.

            That was when she startled herself. She couldn’t place where her thoughts were coming from. The last thing she should have been concerned with when Snape was talking about stewed leeches was Viktor’s body hair _._ Body hair. Her eyes were drawn down at the apex of his pants.

            Other students began packing their things, forcing Hermione to come back to reality. She rushed to pack her things to head for charms, but stopped when she tucked her parchment away. She still had part of Viktor’s notes.

            “Can I get this back to you tomorrow?”

            “Don’t worry,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “I used geminio to replicate my notes while Snape was interrogating you.”

            Hermione hesitated. That was smart. She admonished herself for the thought. Just because Viktor was a champion seeker - and had a blank stare for most of the day - didn’t mean he was unintelligent.

            “Thank you.”

            After she packed her things, he motioned for her to go first and followed her out of the classroom. They walked a few paces in awkward silence. Hermione was fighting against her every grain to keep her eyes off of his crotch. His grooming habits still sat in the forefront of her mind.

            “How was the pastila?” Viktor asked.

            “Excuse me?”

            “The, ah, Turkish Delights?”

            Hermione suddenly remembered the pack of sweets he had given her earlier. The same pack that was being crushed by the weight of her books at the bottom of her bag.

            “They were delicious,” she lied.

            His face gave away no emotion, but he nodded. She couldn’t bear the stilted conversation any longer. She thanked him again for the notes and parted ways at the moving stairs to head to her new charms class.

            As she moved away from him she felt an unusual tug, like a magnet pulling her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see him right where she left him, staring at her. Always the one for politeness, she gave a curt smile and forced her feet to keep moving just as she had earlier that morning. She marked the feeling down on her list of things to ignore in favor of keeping her sanity.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for uploading that last chapter since no Fleurmione was involved. To make up for it, here's the next chapter a bit early! I promise that Fleurmione will eventually explode. For now, however, it's all about slow-burn story building. I like to hear what you all think - leave me a comment below so we can chat!

            Hermione entered Professor Flitwick’s classroom while silently praying for nothing unusual to happen. She just wanted a normal class with interesting subjects and silent peers. Not too much to ask for in her opinion. She gave up her normal habit of going to the first row in favor of sitting next to the only person she really knew in the class of visiting students and upperclassmen. Alicia Spinnet, Gryffindor’s chaser, was settled in the second row.

            They exchanged pleasantries as Hermione got ready for the lecture. She was relieved to have a familiar face even if she had only spoken to Alicia a handful of times due to her lack of interest in quidditch and the year that separated them. They talked about how they were both chosen for this sixth-year class, wondering what Dumbledore must have been thinking. Alicia admitted that she too was nervous, and Hermione settled in that knowledge. Maybe they could help each other or, at the very least, commiserate together.

            Hushed whispers flooded through the room like a wave, and Hermione turned to see what provoked her classmates’ change in behavior. Fleur Delacour waltzed in, leading a gaggle of Beauxbaton’s finest into Charms. They, of course, paid the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws no attention as they took their seats in the front of the classroom.

            It seemed that karma was not finished playing its twisted game with Hermione.

            Fleur sat right in front of her. Hermione swore she could smell a fresh bouquet of roses. Maybe that wasn’t right. Hermione took a deeper breath in, subtly leaning forward on her elbows. There were other scents lingering each time her blonde hair shifted. Roses didn’t do it justice. It was lighter than that. A first breath of fresh air in the middle of a deserted forest.

            Maybe a dash of fresh waterfall mist?

            The smell was more like a feeling than a traditional scent. Hermione couldn't explain it better than that. It perplexed her.

            She leaned a little further.

            The blonde hair she so desperately tried to edge closer to suddenly whipped her in the face. The familiar feeling brought back memories from the world quidditch match.

            Hermione had seconds to act before Fleur was facing her way. She began talking to Alicia about something they stopped discussing minutes ago. Although Alicia was being a good sport, the chaser could barely contain her laughter as Hermione stumbled along in her excitement to learn more healing charms – all the while acting like leaning halfway out of her seat was a perfectly natural thing to do.

            If Fleur took notice she didn’t comment. In fact, she looked right past Hermione. Apparently one of her pack was coming in late and was caught in the path of her ire. Alicia put a hand over Hermione’s to signal that she could finally stop rambling when Fleur turned to talk to her fellow Beauxbatons. Hermione collapsed back into her chair with a long sigh. She couldn’t believe she had been so foolish. Not to mention, smelling someone’s hair is quite possibly the creepiest thing she had ever done.

            She ran her hands over her face, and Alicia patted her on the back in silent understanding. She guessed that veelas could fool females as well. Even though she had no idea what even constituted a veela. Just another reason for her to pay a visit to the library as soon as she got a free period.

 ...

...

...

            Charms went off without a hitch. Minus the incident Hermione chalked up to liking another girl’s perfume. Harry and Ron made attempts to talk to her about breakfast in every class the trio had together for the rest of the day, but she deflected each one with expert precision. She was determined to have the rest of her day pass without incident.

            Soon she was blissfully alone in her favorite corner of the library, nestled in a partially concealed nook with a foggy window overlooking the grounds. The subtle pattering of rain and occasional flip of a page was all that could be heard under the watchful eye of Madam Pince. It was her haven.

            Hermione cracked open one of the many books at her feet. It was entitled “The Siren Races.” Plenty of fairytales involved siren mermaids who coaxed sailors to their deaths. Veelas, on the other hand, were practically nonexistent in the muggle world. She didn’t mind doing the research. It just irked her that Ron got so much joy from knowing something she didn’t.

            Five hours and three books down, and Hermione was no closer to understanding the nature of veelas. The books all contained the same surface nonsense. Veelas were bird-like creatures. Veelas used “thrall” to lure people. Veelas had packs that could not be broken.

            She slammed yet another book shut in frustration. Where were their colonies? What does it mean to be “part veela”? Can veelas use their thrall on anyone or does it have to be the opposite sex? Most importantly, why did Hermione’s stomach feel like she was rushing down a roller coaster every time she was in close proximity with one veela but not the others? The books were clearly all written by overexcited outsiders looking to complete their transcripts by a deadline.

            Hermione began to pack her things to head back to the Gryffindor dormitory and saw a crushed package at the bottom of her bag. She unwrapped it, revealing the treats that Viktor gave her earlier – at least the crumbly bits that survived. She popped an entire Turkish Delight in her mouth and moaned at how delicious it tasted. Frustration could always be cured by simple sweets, and the stress of Hermione’s day melted off of her with each treat she ate.

            “’Mione!”

            She nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice behind her and promptly turned around to smack the intruder on the arm.

            “Ronald Weasley, you can’t sneak up behind me like that!”

            The boy looked offended and rubbed his arm.

            “Sheesh, that’s what I get for coming to find you? Should’ve left you here to your books and had you miss out,” he pouted.

            “Miss out on what exactly?”

            “The twins have lost it. Think they can trick old Dumbledore’s age line. They’re headed to the goblet now to try it out!”

            That caught Hermione’s attention. She rushed to pack the rest of her things.

            “Nice, where’d you get those?”

            Ron reached out to grab the only Turkish Delight still standing, but Hermione slapped his hand away.

            “They aren’t for you,” she chided.

            Ron grumbled about it for the entire way to the room where the goblet was stowed. Something about not being fair. Hermione stopped listening after the first minute.

            By the time they walked in, a crowd of Gryffindors were gathered around, but the Weasley twins were nowhere to be found. Hermione said her polite hellos then pulled out one of the books she was reading about veelas. The title “Veelas: What Are They?” made her interests quite obvious, and the last thing she wanted was to have Ron gloat again, so she hid the front cover the best she could. She was lost in the text in no time despite the rambunctious crowd around her. In fact, it was as if she couldn’t hear them at all.

            It took Hermione a moment to realize that the sudden silence wasn’t owed to her attention skills. The crowd had actually gone mute. Everyone was watching in rapt anticipation as Viktor marched up to the goblet with his name in hand. Hermione found herself watching too.

            As he dropped his name into the goblet he met her eyes, and she felt a heavy weight come over her body. An odd sensation slithered inside her, not allowing her to look away. She bit her lip, and her eyes became lidded. All she could focus on was the way his muscles flexed under that burgundy shirt. Being a seeker must have kept him on a strict exercise schedule. She fancied to know how they would feel wrapping around her.

            “’Mione?”

            “Yah, ’Mione!”

            “What?” Hermione snapped.

            Ron looked terrified and a few of her friends around her were startled. She must have said that a bit louder than she intended. A sharp pain shot through her bottom lip. She touched it and drew her fingers back to reveal a drop of blood. Her incisor broke skin. What had gotten into her?

            That was right – Viktor.

            When she looked back at the goblet all she could see was his retreating form. She closed her book and placed it by her side.

            “I’ll be right back,” she muttered.

            She fully intended to follow him, but as she stepped off the bleachers Fred and George came barreling in with a crowd trailing behind them.

            “Where are you going, Hermione?” George inquired.

            “You can’t miss the show!” Fred added.

            George wrapped his long arm around Hermione’s shoulder and guided her back to the seats.

            “Front row just for you,” he said as he patted her head.

            Hermione was feeling particularly ornery for being interrupted in her pursuit. She could have been talking to Viktor, but there she was watching the twins get in over their heads.

            “It’s not going to work,” she sang.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since all of my fanfic accounts, including my tumblr, was deleted I lost all of my lesbian fanfiction sources. Asking you to leave other fics on my fic may be a bit unorthodox, but leave a comment with one or two of your favorite lesbian fanfics so I can regain reading material! (It doesn't matter if they're explicit. I'm completely okay with smut - as you will see when this story progresses.) Enjoy!

            Suffice it to say, the Weasley twins’ plan had not fooled Dumbledore. A simple aging potion just wasn’t enough. As Hermione was sure to point out the moment their beards began to grow.

            She thought about their faces as she made her way through the library stacks for the second time that day. Her silent laughter put a smile on her lips. One which quickly faded when she rounded the corner to see long legs peeking out from her secret nook. Hermione took a few more steps to see the intruder’s face.

            The bewitching blue eyes of Fleur Delacour met hers as Hermione stood dumbstruck. Her nook. One of her favorite places in the entire castle. And it was taken over by the very girl she intended to research.

            “’ello, can I help you?” Fleur inquired.

            The feeling was back. Hermione’s stomach was plunging straight down from the highest peak of Mount Everest. She forced herself to work past the sensation, determined to ignore the rising pressure between her thighs. She was honestly surprised. Being fifteen, she had of course experienced attraction here and there, but she’d never had such a visceral reaction to someone. The thrall’s power should have frightened her. It did quite the opposite. It intrigued her.

            “I suppose this may be improper to ask, but are you of veela origin?”

            Shock settled into Fleur’s features.

            “Excusez moi?”

            “I mean no offence,” Hermione back-tracked. “I was only curious because…”

            Hermione’s speech faltered as Fleur threw her long legs off the nook. The girl’s body now faced her fully, and it took all of Hermione’s determination to continue. It was a challenge to maintain eye contact – not only because of the intensity of Fleur’s look, but because of those legs. The expanse of alabaster skin was all toned muscle. Hermione grew hot when she chanced a quick glance down to be met with the image of Fleur’s legs disappearing under her dress. When she looked back up, a mere fraction of a second later, she had been caught. Mirth danced behind Fleur’s eyes as one sculpted brow twitched up. Hermione forced herself to speak through her embarrassment.

            “I was only curious because Harry and Ron seem to lose their heads when you and your friends are near.”

            Not exactly a lie. Just an omission of truth. What was she to say? That she, too, had the same inane desire? She refused to admit, to Fleur _and_ herself, that she wanted nothing more than to step between Fleur’s legs.

            Fleur seemed to mull over Hermione’s words. Amusement never left her face, but further insight into her thoughts were hidden. Hermione subtly rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. Her pride refused to allow her to appear uneasy. Although, she began to second-guess herself as the silence continued. She was afraid she offended the girl.

            “You mentioned a ‘Harry’ and ‘Ron,’” Fleur said, “so that must mean you’re ‘Hermione.’”

            Hermione’s surprise must have been apparent because Fleur continued.

            “You are a part of the famous trio, no?”

            Before Hermione could think better of it, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was the same reaction she had given many times before. She loathed their notoriety in the wizarding world. What she, Ron, and Harry had been through was nothing to celebrate. It weighed on her and, what’s more, the celebrity status embarrassed her.

            A look of understanding settled over Fleur’s features. She hopped down from the ledge, leaving little room between them. A scent of trees rustling in the wind hit Hermione’s nostrils, and her irritation faded to the background.

            “Interesting,” Fleur noted. “You don’t like being known for something you can’t control.”

            Fleur stepped closer, and if Hermione wasn’t so incredibly stubborn she would’ve stepped back. However, her Gryffindor paws stayed firmly planted. She refused to lose whatever power play in which they seemed to be engaged. Fleur stopped inches from Hermione, and bent her neck down slightly to get inches away from Hermione’s face despite being taller. Her eyes seemed to inspect Hermione for some kind of answer to a question that wasn’t asked.

            “Seems like we have that in common,” Fleur finished.

            With that, Fleur took her leave. She brushed past Hermione, her blonde hair unleashing a smoky scent of marshmallows roasting over a crackling fire. As soon as she was out of sight Hermione collapsed in the nearest chair. She was just chastised by the French woman, but she couldn’t find it in herself be upset. She enjoyed every moment of it.

            The feeling that Fleur’s thrall seemed to place on Hermione lingered much longer that time. She couldn’t focus on the text of the books in front of her and gave up after an hour of desperately trying to read. What little bit she did manage to skim through got her no closer to understanding the oddities that kept occurring. Veelas were still a mystery, and she may very well have alienated the one person who could have told her more.


	6. Chapter 6

            Harry’s name shooting out of the goblet at dinner was all that the students could talk about for the next week. Every class held whispered mockery of his apparent need for fame. Potions class was the worst. The Slytherin students were practically frothing at the mouth as they baited Hermione with loud protests of Harry’s abilities.

            The only reason she kept her mouth shut was because of the certainty she had about Snape looking for any excuse to dock points from Gryffindor. She knew that she was in their territory and would have to wait. Every class that went by left Hermione with a bad taste in her mouth. One that Viktor seemed ready to cure with sweet treats and almost smiles.

            He hadn’t participated in the mockery. She even noticed him glare when any Slytherin got too close to their table. Hermione was not in the habit of being saved, but she found herself feeling grateful. So much so that as the week went on, the mockery faded into background noise. She began to be enamored by the strong, stoic Durmstrang that had no problem with coming to her rescue.

            After potions, she would walk into charms in a sort of daze. One that Alicia finally called attention to.

            “Hermione, why are you all hot and bothered?”

            Hermione was caught completely off guard. She vehemently denied anything was going on, but Alicia kept pressing her.

            “Every time you get to class, your cheeks look like you’ve just ran a marathon and your smile is so big that I think it might get stuck that way,” Alicia whispered. “So, who is he?”

            If she hadn’t been so busy defending herself, she might have noticed how Fleur had gone still in the row in front of her. The typically effortless demeanor of the French woman was replaced by a stiff back and clenched hands.

            “There’s nothing and no one,” Hermione huffed. “Now can we _please_ pay attention? I’m already behind, and Professor Flitwick is beginning to notice.”

            Alicia had enough good graces to drop the topic, but she clearly wasn’t convinced by Hermione’s lackluster denial. In truth, Hermione didn’t feel confident in her answer. She knew what Alicia was getting at because she noticed how Viktor had begun to seep into her every thought. She just didn’t feel confident in how, which is why she didn’t want to talk about it. They’ve shared little more than five minutes of conversation total. He was a man of few words.

            Before she knew it, another charms class passed. She had been caught up in her own thoughts again and hadn’t retained a damn thing. It frustrated her to no end. She was never one to have problems compartmentalizing her life and paying attention when needed. Yet, lately, her head had spent more time in the clouds than in class.

            Hermione heard her name called as she walked out of the classroom. She turned to see Fleur offer a short wave as she made her way to her. Hermione was amazed at the sight she witnessed. The French girl didn’t have to wrestle with the crowd of students leaving the class. It was like everyone could sense her presence behind them, moving themselves out of the way just before she approached. Hermione wondered if they smelled the strong scents of the veela too. Judging by the glazed looks directed at Fleur’s backside, she assumed as much.

            “Are you headed to the Great Hall?”

             “Someone has to sit with Harry since the entire school seems to have lost their heads,” Hermione grimaced. “Including Ron.”

            “He shouldn’t be in the tournament,” Fleur replied. “He is too young-”

            Hermione felt her aggravation tip over, having had enough of everyone’s opinions. The warmth coming from the veela that was coaxing her wasn’t enough to suppress her feelings.

            “He didn’t enter his bloody name,” Hermione snapped.

            Fleur and Hermione both stopped in the middle of the hallway. Luckily, the students kept filing around them, having not heard Hermione over the bustle between classes. Fleur’s eyes were wide and her mouth agape. Somehow, Hermione swore she could feel the other girl’s emotions. A hint of hurt traveled along the warm blanket over Hermione, but it was gone as quick as it came.

            “I’m sorry, Fleur, I…” Hermione huffed.

            She was at a loss for words. Another thing that she wasn’t familiar with. She had a difficult time working out a complete sentence through the fog in her head.

            Fleur pulled Hermione gently by the wrist until they stood off to the side out of everyone’s way. Fleur’s thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist as she talked, but Hermione didn’t hear a word she said. She was too focused on the sparks of sensation coming from her touch. One moment she felt a tingling bliss flow through her body, the next she was numb. The sensations alternated every second, with every downward stroke of the girl’s thumb.

            Hermione snatched her wrist away, unable to handle the warring emotions. It was all too much. She frowned and squeezed her eyes closed.

            “‘Ermione? Are you all right?”

            She didn’t want the concerned girl to touch her again so she forced herself to answer.

            “Fine, I’m fine,” Hermione replied. “Sorry, go on?”

            Concern was clear on Fleur’s face, but she acquiesced.

            “I don’t believe he entered his name,” Fleur said. “What I said before – I didn’t mean they shouldn’t _let_ him compete. I meant they shouldn’t _make_ him. I am concerned for his safety.”

            This brought a smile to Hermione’s face. She opened her eyes, squinting because the lights around her burned. She took her anger out on one of the few people who seemed to believe Harry. Of course she did.

            “You and me both,” Hermione supplied.

            Fleur instantly matched Hermione’s smile, and a sense of ease Hermione couldn’t place helped her calm down. She took a big breath. The overwhelming niggling reverted to the back of her mind. She felt in control again.

            The rest of the journey to the Great Hall was filled with easy small talk about Scotland’s wet weather compared to France’s sun. Hermione was almost sad to watch Fleur join her friends when they parted at the giant double doors. She offered a little wave before she moved on to join Harry. As she guessed, the poor boy was sitting alone, other Gryffindors having left at least three feet of empty space around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a couple days late. I've been wrapped up in finals and completely forgot to publish this. Don't worry, you'll get the next update on Sunday like normal because I wrote two chapters today. Side note: Thank you all who recommended some lesbian fanfics. Those of you who didn't, please leave your favorite fanfic suggestions in the comments below so I can read them! My arsenal of fanfics disappeared when my account did so I need to resupply.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor smut

            Hermione lost track of time during her intense study session. Since she wasn’t paying attention to Professor Flitwick, she had to catch up on the material outside of class. It was exhausting to say the least.

 

            By the time she returned to the dormitory, the other girls must have been sleeping for hours. She snuck into her room, changed in the dark, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

            The next thing she knew, she was waking up to the faces of her friends hovering over her. She jolted upright and felt the room spin. One swipe of her fingers through her matted hair told her she had been tossing and turning. Sweat dripped down her forehead and landed on her shirt, which was nearly soaked through.

 

            “I did it again?” Hermione asked.

 

            Ginny nodded solemnly. Judging by the younger girl’s sleepy appearance and the darkness still outside, Hermione knew she couldn’t have been asleep for that long. She was tired of causing trouble for the other girls. The nightmares had been nonstop for weeks.

 

            “I’m fine now, promise,” Hermione said after a long pause. “I just need to walk it off.”

 

            Her roommates, apart from Ginny, dispersed to their beds. Hermione’s bouts of screaming had become a normal routine of their nights so their concern had dwindled from the first time.

 

            Hermione sat up in her bed and let out a long exhale as her feet touched the cold floor. It felt so good against her burning skin. When she felt confident she wouldn’t pass out, she stood and held onto the nearest bedpost.

 

            “Want me to come with you, ‘Mione?”

 

            “I’m fine, Gin,” Hermione replied. “Thanks, though.”

 

            Ginny nodded and shuffled back to her bed with a yawn.

 

            Hermione couldn’t go back to sleep in her current state so she made her way to the showers with a new set of clothes in hand. She sat her old and new clothes on two shelves just outside the shower, taking the time to fold the old bits as neatly as she could. It was a force of habit that even her sleep addled state couldn’t break. Everything made more sense in her life when the simple things were neat. It gave her some semblance of control. Something that these nightmares had taken away from her time and time again. No matter how hard she tried to remember them, she couldn’t discern much more than fleeting images. All she knew was that she was caught between terror and arousal each time.

 

            Once her clothes were folded to her liking, she stepped in the shower and turned it on without a care about how cold it’d be. She welcomed the freezing droplets jarring her awake. It felt like ice pelting her skin in her fevered state. Her body rejected the water at first, her limbs shivering and teeth chattering, but her mind welcomed the sensations. She closed her eyes and was met with one of the brief memories of her latest nightmare. A hand grabbed her hair at the base of her skull, fingers wrapping expertly in her curls. As the water rolled down to the apex of her thighs it sent waves of pleasure through her that caused her to tighten her abdominal muscles. She was acutely aware of each individual droplet falling to her core. The memory of lips that began rough and dominant transformed into a soft, gentle teasing against her own. It was so real that she could have sworn she still felt them glide down to her neck.

 

            Hermione banged a hand on the shower wall, gripping at the sleek tile. She didn’t understand exactly why her body was reacting this way, but she knew the feeling of her own arousal all too well. Many nights in this shower were spent exploring all the ways she could bring herself to a release. With the stress she had to endure at Hogwarts, it was a vital routine to keep her sanity.

 

            Her other hand slipped between her thighs as she finally listened to what her body needed. Usually, she preferred a slow build, gentle caresses that led to a beautiful release. That night, however, she couldn’t wait. Her movements were rough and desperate. She pressed her entire front onto the wall, the cold tile rubbing her nipples as her body rolled against her hand. A slight pain was edging closer the harder she rubbed, but she couldn’t stop. The pleasure from her hand far outweighed her sensibilities. Another memory brought forth the image of delicate fingers running down and gripping her backside. Hermione arched her back, trying to press into hands that weren’t actually there. Short, staccato moans were mingling with heavy breath. She rubbed faster, faster, until her toes curled and her back went rigid. She stopped breathing as the sweet sensation flooded through her, and oh, Merlin, was it good.

 

            A wave of exhaustion followed the pure bliss, weighing her body down. The lingering aftereffects of her nightmare vanished and all that remained was a desperate need for rest. She welcomed the feeling. Maybe it meant she could sleep through the rest of the night without causing a scene.

 

            After a quick lather of soap, Hermione dried herself off, careful to avoid going near her inner thighs more than necessary. A dull ache had settled in. Her body’s way of telling her that she needed to ease up the next time.

 

            She slipped into her replacement clothes and gave one of the mirrors a passing glance on her way out. A small scream left her lips as Viktor appeared in the mirror. His figure was cast in shadow. She whipped her head around, wishing she had brought her wand, but all she was met with was the looming emptiness of the bathroom. No Viktor nor anyone else. She turned to look back in the mirror and saw nothing.

 

            “Get it together,” Hermione admonished herself.

 

            She focused on how idiotic she was being and pushed her fear away. The nightmares were bad enough. She refused to be the tortured soul who woke up screaming at night _and_ saw things that weren’t there. Chalking it up to making up monsters in the dim lighting, she rushed back to the safety of her room. She muttered a quick drying spell to fix her damp covers and pillow and forced herself to go to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The holidays were jam-packed with bouncing from one relative to another. I hope this chapter makes sense - I've written it with a fever and four hours of sleep. If it doesn't then I'll edit it next week. For now, here is the raw copy. I wanted to give you all something because I've been AWOL for so long. I hope the holidays were pleasant for everyone! Happy New Year's in advance since I probably won't update before then!

            Hermione spent endless nights in the library. Half of the reason was that she was lagging behind in Charms, but the other half – and what she didn’t wish to admit – was because she needed to exhaust herself completely so she’d be comatose by the time she went to bed each night.

 

            She couldn’t find it in herself to be upset when she rounded the corner to see a familiar pair of slender legs stretched along her usual spot on the window seal. She hadn’t thought to strike up another conversation with Fleur after embarrassing herself the week prior. What was she to say? Sorry for being a complete prat? Hermione didn’t have time to think about an apology. Viktor was taking up more and more of her time. It started with seeing him in Potions, but now he was a regular occurrence in the Great Hall as well. The library seemed to be her only reprieve – not that she needed a reprieve from him…she just felt so overwhelmed in his presence sometimes. She needed a chance to reset.

 

            As Hermione snuck closer, she noticed Fleur’s eyes were closed and her chest was slowly moving from deep breaths. Her body was stretched out and a book was nestled onto her lap. Hermione thought she resembled a sleeping dragon, all grace and strength.

 

            Not wanting to startle said dragon, she quietly laid her books on the table before approaching her. She paused, standing in front of Fleur helplessly. She didn’t quite know how to go about this. She knew Madame Pince already had them on thin ice for making noise last time. A gentle shoulder tug would probably be the best route.

 

            Hermione’s fingers barely made contact with Fleur’s shoulder before the girl burst awake. Everything happened so fast. One minute Hermione was standing over Fleur, and the next, Hermione was pinned against the cold brick wall. Fleur held her there with nothing more than a palm to her chest.

 

            Any sensible person would’ve been frightened. Hermione, however, seemed to have lost her senses at the beginning of the year. She was awestruck by the show of power. No matter how hard she strained against her hand, her body wouldn’t budge. She didn't know Fleur, but she had no doubt that the girl would relent if Hermione asked. She didn’t know where that assurance came from – it certainly wasn’t displayed in Fleur’s behavior – she just felt secure somehow.

 

            “Bad dream?” Hermione supplied.

 

            It was a lame response, but it was all she could think of at the moment. The feeling from a few nights before in the shower returned full force. Her body went hot and waves of need crashed through her body down to the apex of her thighs.

 

            Fleur’s face inched closer, forcing Hermione to look into her eyes. Their usual ice blue had tendrils of lavender spreading through them until her irises were engulfed by the color. Her hand fisted into Hermione’s jumper, and Hermione could feel the scratch of her nails through the fabric.

 

            Hermione wasn’t sure what was happening. She just knew whatever it was, was escalating quickly. If she didn’t stop it now – whatever _it_ was – she was sure that she would regret it. Nagging guilt loomed in the outskirts of her mind; someone she was forgetting as her mind was consumed by her primal need.

 

            The forces of Godric himself must have intervened because a loud crash echoed behind them as an entire row of books fell off of a shelf. Little did Hermione know, Godric had nothing to do with it. The translucent figure of Peeves rushed down the aisle too quickly for her to see his retreat.

 

            Fleur seemed to be jostled by the sound. Her lavender eyes faded back to blue, and mortification set into her features. Her eyes scanned over the scene as if she was noticing what she was doing for the first time.

 

            “Oh, J'y crois pas…” Fleur said. “’Ermione, are you all right? What did I do?”

 

            The fist that was once firmly grasping Hermione’s chest now rose to cup her cheek. Fleur seemed to be checking for harm. Hermione was caught between surprise and irrational amusement. Hermione felt laughter bubble out of her mouth. People act in odd ways to stress all the time, and Hermione was no exception. It seemed that the weight of the past few weeks overflowed tonight and stole all of her sensibilities.

 

            The look of horror on Fleur’s face broke into one of confusion. She said Hermione's name again. This time she tapped her palm against Hermione’s cheek lightly as if to break her out of a possible hysteria.

 

            Hermione shook her head and grabbed the girl's hand. Her curiosity begged her to ask for answers, ones that her research couldn't supply. She decided against it after witnessing the fragility in Fleur. She seemed far more scared than Hermione, and the last thing Hermione wanted was to make her retreat into herself. She had enough self-awareness to realize that her constant need for answers had been a major reason that none of their past conversations had been productive.

 

            “You are a wonder, Fleur Delacour,” Hermione finally whispered. “I won’t ask what just happened, mainly because I don’t think you’d tell me anyway, but one day I expect some sort of explanation. For now, my nerves will settle with just an answer to this: Are you all right?”

 

            Fleur bit the inside of her cheek. The conflicting responses were clear in her large expressive eyes. Hermione patiently waited as the girl decided on one. Their hands lowered, fingers intertwined lazily between them.

 

            The overwhelming lust that was pressed upon Hermione faded, and she had no doubt that it had everything to do with Fleur coming back to reality. She wasn’t dense, after all. She knew the veela could press those feelings on a person. She just didn’t know exactly why it had happened so suddenly.

 

            A sense of ease settled in Hermione’s stomach. One that she much preferred to the earlier sensations. She was overcome with such a calm that the sensations jolting up her arm from Fleur’s touch was manageable. She didn’t have the urge to tug away.

 

            Fleur squeezed Hermione’s fingers gently to bring her attention back to her. Her earlier indecision was replaced with a small smile.

 

            “It appears that we both have secrets we’d rather not discuss yet. Why don’t we start over?”

 

            Fleur let go of Hermione’s hand and held her open palm up, her arm being able to stretch no further than 90 degrees with how close they were standing to each other. Hermione couldn’t argue with that logic, yet she hesitated to take her hand again. Fleur continued on.

 

            “Bonsoir, Hermione, I am Fleur Delacour. The Tournament’s future champion, lover of Fizzing Whizzbees,” Fleur paused, “and part-veela.”

 

            She was surprised by the easy confession. The gesture of good will won over Hermione. Fleur’s charming wit may have had a bit to do with it as well.

 

            As soon as she slid her palm against Fleur’s, a smell of fresh pine intensified. Hermione felt dizzy. Dizzy in a way that she didn’t mind one bit. If she couldn’t see that her feet were planted firmly on the floors of the library she would’ve swore that she was floating. Something ethereal was reaching out to her, enveloping her like a warm blanket. The danger that existed just moments ago seemed far away from her memory.

 

            Fleur’s skin was soft compared to Hermione’s, the latter’s having been dried and callused from years of writing and combing through pages of books. She ventured to know if Fleur lathered in lotion just before she arrived. It made no sense for the self-proclaimed “Tournament’s future champion” to feel as if she never lifted a finger.

 

            Hermione realized too late that she held Fleur’s hand far over the socially accepted timeframe. They stopped shaking hands, and just settled into standing there holding them between their bodies once again. Fleur wore a curious expression. She seemed to have no qualms on continuing whatever it was they were doing, but Hermione’s manners kicked her into action.

 

            “Well, I should go next,” Hermione took a breath. “My name is Hermione Granger. Founder of S.P.E.W. – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, lover of books, and…best friend of Harry – the boy who happens to be the target, and prevailer, of many misfortunes.”

 

            This was a start.

 

            A beautiful smile spread Fleur’s lips apart to reveal bright teeth, and Hermione’s heart rattled inside her chest. They settled into a surprisingly easy conversation and sat at the table next to the hidden nook. Hermione tried not to think much about Fleur’s choice to sit right next to her rather than across the table. Fleur asked about S.P.E.W., which catapulted Hermione into a long debate over the treatment of house elves. As they talked, Hermione’s passionate hand motions caused them to come in contact with small brushes of skin. Each time felt electric.

 

            Eventually, the conversation shifted to Fleur and her sister who was also at Hogwarts. She spoke of her family and of humorous childhood memories, and Hermione reciprocated with some of her own. Despite their best attempts at keeping their voices low, Madam Pince rounded the corner after the fifth bout of laughter and told them that a hex awaited the next giggling culprit.

 

            Fleur thought it wise for them to part before they faced Madam Pince’s ire. She rose from her seat, packed her things, and left Hermione with a short kiss on the cheek. The intimate contact short-circuited Hermione’s brain. No words could have come out. She was frozen.

 

            “Until next time,” Fleur said.

 

            Fleur disappeared behind stacks of books, and the warm blanket Hermione felt surrounded by left with her. A sudden chill set into Hermione’s spine that snapped her out of whatever the bloody hell the last hour had been. With one look out the window, she could tell that hours had past. The moon was high in the sky, and her roommates were probably sleeping soundly in their beds. She figured she’d try to join them, not able to tamper the grin on her face as she packed her things.

 

            “’Til next time,” Hermione whispered to herself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even going to make excuses on this obscenely late chapter. I just haven't had the gumption to write it. I know it's short, but it was all I could bang out atm.

            The next time happened sooner than expected. Fleur approached her after Charms to walk with her to the Great Hall again, which Hermione would have been excited about if her impending doom wasn’t at the forefront of her mind.

 

            “It’s a week away,” Fleur said. “You still have time.”

 

            Hermione didn’t have to ask how she knew. Anxiety was written all over her face. For the first time in her life, she was genuinely concerned about getting a bad mark on an exam. She tried to focus – she really did – but her mind didn’t want to cooperate.

 

            Just before she reached the door, Fleur took her wrist. Hermione had read about veelas’ custom of showing affection physically so it didn’t necessarily surprise her. She just wondered how much she could take. If this became a habit then it was going to be the death of her. Provided that the exam didn’t kill her first.

 

            The same blissful feeling from yesterday was doused by an uncomfortable numbness, as if she slept on her hand for too long. She could feel the prickling travel up her arm. Then, all of a sudden, the discomfort intensified until it became a sharp pain. Hermione jerked her hand away and held it to her chest as she stumbled backward. What should have been an easy escape with the door right behind her turned into just another obstacle as her back hit a hard wall of cloth.

 

            Viktor was looming over her, his large hands resting on her shoulders.

 

            “Are you all right, Hermy-own?” Viktor gruffed.

 

            He was looking straight past her. Fleur’s eyes went cold and her shoulders squared. Hermione swore she saw the girl’s fingers twitch for her wand. The two seemed to be in a stare-off with no end in sight.

 

            “I’m fine,” Hermione whispered, still unsure what she was a witness to.

 

            The pain had faded just as quickly as it had come. It was replaced by an odd reassurance that Viktor’s hands brought. Not a typical comfort for Hermione, but one she unwillingly welcomed over the past month.

 

            “We should go,” Viktor finally said. “I don’t want to be late to my class.”

 

            “If you need to go then I can walk with Fleur,” Hermione began.

 

            “No,” Viktor interrupted.

 

            His voice was sharp, his jaw taut from grinding teeth.

 

            “It is on my way,” he continued. “I don’t mind. Let’s go, yes?”

 

            Although framed as a question, it was a command. Hermione’s head bowed. She couldn’t look Fleur in the eyes as she mumbled a yes. She couldn’t even manage a goodbye. The pair left Fleur standing alone in the room with a couple of students and a confused professor.

...

...

...

            Hermione was sure that - apart from the back of Fleur’s head in Charms - that would be the last she’d see of her. She was proven wrong as the older girl slipped gracefully into a chair at her table, careful to not make noise in the quiet corner of the library. Hermione tried not to notice how she chose the seat across from her this time and tried even harder not to show her disappointment at the distance. Instead, she focused on the books Fleur laid in front of her. The gigantic stack consisted of Charms history and theories.

 

            “I thought I’d help you study,” Fleur supplied.

 

            Hermione bit back a smile and looked down so her hair hid her face. The veela didn’t even need to influence her for how giddy she felt. Fleur cared enough to notice. That wasn't something Hermione was used to.

 

            “Unless you don’t want the company,” Fleur hesitated.

 

            Panic flashed through Hermione. She couldn’t go. She just got here.

 

            The chair scraped against the wooden floor and Hermione’s head snapped up. Clearly, her demeanor was misinterpreted.

 

            She didn’t think. For once, she just _did_. She needed to let Fleur know, in her way, that she wanted her to stay. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up to stop her. She reached out and grabbed Fleur’s hand to stop her from standing, leaning closer in the process.

 

            “Please,” Hermione implored. “Don’t go.”

 

            Fleur’s usually closed off features became apparent on her face. Surprise. Then understanding. Then an emotion Hermione couldn’t possibly understand yet.

 

            The shocking sensation that was rippling through her arm was bearable because of the smile on Fleur’s lips. She didn’t even take note of the pain. How could she when she was focused on those lips?

 

            Hermione’s brain finally caught up and made her draw her hand back slowly. Fleur left her hand in place for a few beats before letting out a breath and cracking a book open.

 

            “What did you want to start on first?” Fleur asked.

 

            That night, there was no mention of what happened after class. Fleur seemed to be content on burying it and moving on, which Hermione couldn't complain about. She didn't have a clear understanding on what even happened. She just chalked it up to petty Championship rivalry.

 

            Hermione ended up learning more than she had in the past month of Charms classes. When Fleur explained it, she seemed to be able to retain the information that had been lost to her. It felt amazing.

 

            They went on like that for the next week. Hermione spent hours in the library counting down the minutes until she would be accompanied by Fleur. Then the pair would spend the night caught between Charms studies and casual conversation - always avoiding anything controversial. Hermione cherished that time. It was the brief blissful pause in her hectic life. Between helping Harry, keeping up with coursework, and Viktor – well, all she would let herself admit was that she needed the break.

 

            Both decided to celebrate after Hermione’s top mark on the exam by going on the next trip to Hogsmeade together. Hermione was determined to show Fleur the glorious taste of Butterbeer so she’d stop sneering every time it was mentioned.

 

            That never happened. And Draco was to blame.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know! But the next will be out today or tomorrow - and will be in Fleur's POV to clear some things up.
> 
> I hope someone notices my brief nod to the glorious Potter Puppet Pals.

            The Slytherin girls weren’t the only ones upset with Hermione’s proximity to Viktor. Ever since Viktor snapped at the group, Draco could be seen seething more and more each class. Hermione knew from experience that he was a ticking time bomb.

 

            Thus far, Viktor’s constant presence before and after class seemed to keep him at bay, but all it took was one departure of the muscled Bulgarian for Draco to pounce.

 

            Viktor was escorted away by Karkaroff personally after Potions class to attend a meeting. Hermione tried her best to get him to stay. She wanted to mention the Hogsmeade trip happening later that afternoon, but he couldn’t be swayed. He told her he’d meet her after lunch.

 

            Hermione found herself walking aimlessly to Charms, feeling odd without the presence of Viktor by her side. As she rounded the corner, she was ambushed by Draco’s sneer.

 

            “Want one, Granger?” said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. “I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see, don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

 

            “What did you just say, Malfoy?”

 

            Hermione turned to see Harry and Ron, the former’s face going red with anger. She saw Harry’s emotions swell the moment after that disgusting word left Draco’s mouth.

 

            “Harry, no,” Hermione warned.

 

            It hadn’t been the first time he called her that with such malice, but she knew Harry’s patience was running thin with the stress he was under. She moved to place a hand on Harry’s wand to dissuade him from acting.

 

            It was too late.

 

            Both of them flung their wands up at the same time.

 

            “Furnunculus!” Harry yelled.

 

            “Densaugeo!” screamed Draco.

 

            Everyone in the hall went silent as the flashes of magic collided and ricocheted in two different directions.  Draco’s spell hit Hermione square in the face. She felt her gums ache and reached up to assess the damage.

 

            What she found was devastating.

 

            The cruel laughter of Pansy and her gang resonated through the halls when Ron ripped Hermione’s hands away from her mouth to reveal that her two front teeth growing at an alarming rate.

 

            Tears racked through her body. It was all too much. She couldn’t feign indifference at this. Where was Viktor? She felt lost. Like she couldn’t handle it on her own. She needed –

 

            She needed to go.

 

            Hermione ran through the halls trying – in vain – to hide the growing incisors.


End file.
